Back to the Start
by JennyBunny65
Summary: Through a series of unfortunate circumstances, including a quarantine, a minor explosion, and an escaped monkey (Fitz's fault, but don't ask), Fitz had never met her parents. Or, in which Fitz meets the Simmonses and Mrs. Simmons ships it.
1. Translucent Christmas

**Author's Note: It's been awhile since I posted anything (but on the bright side, I'm officially done applying to colleges!), and I know this isn't my usual sandbox, but I've completely fallen in love with FitzSimmons. They are my complete reason for watching AoS. And I can't be the only one, right? Who else is hardcore shipping these two, whether romantically or as Science Bros? Title comes from Coldplay's "The Scientist" which is fitting, no? This will probably be shorter than my other stories because I'm mostly just testing the waters with this fandom. Let me know what you think, please! I, as always, do not own these characters, but I wish I did.**

"Freedom at last! Finals are over!" exclaimed Simmons as she and Fitz made their way through the not-very-freshly plowed sidewalks of campus. The slush was almost ankle-deep, splashing onto the thighs of her khakis, where her pants were unprotected by boots.

But Simmons didn't care and, despite all his harping on about the cold, she doubted the weather could ruin Fitz's mood either. It was a beautifully sunny (albeit freezing) New York day, their last semester exams were snugly ensconced in their professor's hands for grading, and they had three weeks of uninterrupted leisure time ahead of them.

"I don't know about you, but the first thing _I'm_ doing is taking a nice long nap. I'm absolutely knackered and after tomorrow, I'll be completely jet-lagged, too. And a worn-down, overstressed Jemma is no one's idea of a merry little Christmas."

Fitz smirked at her, rubbing his arm where Simmons knew a nasty bruise still lingered from days ago. "Don't I know that firsthand," he commented dryly. "At least your family doesn't have to deal with no-sleep, no-caffeine, three-exams-to-go Jemma. She's dead violent."

Simmons rolled her eyes. Sure, she'd felt guilty when she saw the bruise the first time, but for heaven's sake, the boy's skin was like a peach. She couldn't help that he was so, ahem, _delicate_.

"What are your plans, then? Heading home to the family for the holidays?"

Fitz grimaced, shoving his hands into the deep pockets of rumbled overcoat. It wasn't a good idea; Simmons knew he was liable to keep all sorts of bits and bobs on his person at any given time, and sure enough, he immediately swore and withdrew a slightly bloody finger.

"Dunno what I'll be doing over break. My parents are going through their third midlife crisis on a cruise somewhere in Barbados. Probably won't be back until after Christmas, so I'll just be kicking around the house by myself."

Simmons stopped walking abruptly and Fitz, with his wounded finger in his mouth, turned to her with a quizzical look. "What's wrong?"

"Fitz, you can't spend Christmas alone! That's positively criminal!"

Fitz shrugged, unconcerned. "Even if I'm alone, at least I'll be alone in Embra. It'd be worse to stay over here for the holidays, I think."

Simmons shook her head. "No one should have to be alone on Christmas! It's _the_ season for family and friends and – and goodwill towards men, and all that. You can't be holed away by yourself for that. You can't even cook properly!"

Fitz blushed, perhaps remembering, as she was, the Great TV Dinner Fire of '09. He shrugged the memory off, saying, "I would've gone with my parents, but they left before finals were over. I wanted to make sure I had enough time to study – I don't want anything to jeopardize this thing with…"

His voice trailed off as he glanced over his shoulders conspicuously, before hissing quite loudly, "You know. SHIELD."

Simmons nodded, understanding completely. Only a month ago, they'd been offered lucrative positions with the agency after their graduation from Cornell next spring; after their eager acceptance, both Simmons and Fitz had found their tuition paid and their student loans erased, and neither one wanted to risk the amazing opportunity they'd been offered.

What exactly they'd been recruited for, they didn't know. They were only told that they'd have the chance to study under some of the most brilliant minds in the world, and that SHIELD believed their skills could "help make the world a safer place." They'd even been selected together, as a pair, which was perhaps the best part; after stumbling into a friendship with Fitz during the first year of her undergrad program, Simmons wasn't sure she could leave him behind for any job, no matter how well it paid.

And she certainly wasn't about to leave him behind now. "I'm leaving for Newcastle tomorrow night. Why don't you come with me? You can spend the holidays with my family and we'll drive you up to Edinburgh once your parents get home. If you can't spend Christmas with your family, you should at least be with friends."

Fitz frowned slightly, his eyebrows crinkling in what Simmons recognized as his "deep in thought" face. Through a series of unfortunate circumstances, including a quarantine, a minor explosion, and an escaped monkey (Fitz's fault, but don't ask), Fitz had never met her parents. It was odd, she knew, as they'd been close friends for almost 7 years now, and she was eager to introduce him to her family. She knew they'd love him, and perhaps then they'd stop hinting in their letters that they didn't believe Fitz was real (no matter how many pictures of the two of them Simmons sent, her mother always commented on how _lonely_ she must be in New York _all by herself_).

"Come on, it'll be great! My mum always makes too much food anyhow, and she _adores_ guests."

Fitz grinned, then frowned again. "I don't want to be a burden, having you drive all over the UK."

Simmons scoffed. "It's about two and half hours to drive from Newcastle to Edinburgh. Come on, Fitz, we've never spent the holidays together before and my parents are _dying_ to meet you. And furthermore, I can't stomach the thought of you ordering takeout and singing 'White Christmas' all alone like the world's most off-key one-man choir."

"I hate that song," muttered Fitz. "Snow isn't even white; it's translucent – "

"– I know, Fitz – "

"– it only looks white on account of the dispersion of the crystalline structure refracting the light photons equally across the spectrum like a prism. Like a polar bear's fur isn't really white either, it's trans-"

"As true as that may be, Fitz," interrupted Simmons quickly, before he really got a good rhythm going, "'Translucent Christmas' just doesn't have the same ring to it."

"I don't think it's too much to ask for a little accuracy, is all…"

"_Fitz_. I _know_. You're avoiding the bigger issue here." Simmons held back a smile even as she scolded him. She'd been around him long enough that even some of his more annoying quirks – like his compulsive need to explain and correct any inaccuracy – were charming to her.

Fitz pulled a jumble of metal and wires out of his pocket, fiddling with them as they walked on. They were almost to their dorm, where the raucous celebrating of their fellow classmates would render this conversation inaudible. Simmons could hardly begrudge them the chance to celebrate, but she did wish they could be a bit more discreet with it – she could already see two boys hauling a keg wrapped in coats through the front door.

"I guess that would be fine, then. If it really wouldn't be a bother. I'd love to get your feedback on this." Fitz held up the handful of parts for her to inspect. "It's going to be a short-range tranquilizer gun, causes temporary paralysis without any cell damage. You-know-what mentioned something about it to me; I think I'm going to call it the Night-Night gun."

Simmons beamed and threw her arms around him. "That's excellent! And that name is _terrible_! I'll go let my mum know – you go order your plane ticket and pack. I'll meet you in the lab in about an hour to tidy up our equipment there. Oh, this is so exciting!"

She jogged up the stairs to her dorm room, whistling the tune of "White Christmas" as she went.

* * *

"Mum said she and Dad were driving down to get Nan, so she sent someone else to pick us up. She has some weird vendetta against cabs that's really not worth exploring further."

Fitz glanced at Simmons, a small, fond smile curving his lips. She'd been like this all day, bubbly and excited with the prospect of going home. He understood the feeling, of course, but he was less adept at expressing it. Simmons, on the other hand, had practically danced off the plane, grabbing his hand so she could swing their joined arms in a wide semi-circle as they walked to baggage claim. She was humming under her breath, and her smile seemed permanently etched into her cheeks.

She looked beautiful, in a purely platonic way.

Because no matter how in love with Simmons he was (which, yes, was a lot), they would never be more than friends. They'd shared one drunken kiss at their first (and only) college party sophomore year, and Simmons didn't remember it at all. He followed her lead in ignoring the infraction, content to love her from afar, as long as he got to keep his best friend.

"Who do you reckon is coming to pick us up?" he asked casually, scanning the conveyor belt for his suitcase and not noticing the way her face paled.

"Bloody _hell_," she groaned. "Of _course_ Mum sent _him_."

"Who?" asked Fitz absently. He'd gotten good at reading tones over the years (or at least Simmons' tones) but he was too concerned about his luggage to notice; after all, the Night-Night prototype was in his bag, wrapped in about three layers of bubble wrap.

"My ex boyfriend," grumbled Simmons. "Mum is a notorious match-making addict and she never knows when to give up."

"Are you still on amiable terms?" Fitz asked. _Where is it, where is it_…if his suitcase had gotten lost…

"We were barely on amiable terms when we dated! Quick, we can call a cab and hide until he – oh, he's spotted us!"

Fitz barely had time to look up before he was jostled none too gently from behind by a huge, fast moving body. He went sprawling to the ground as the goliath figure tackled Simmons.

"There's my Jems! Sure am glad to see you!"

"For heaven's sake, Adam, put me down!"

Fitz peeled himself off the floor, assessing the situation with his usual clinical objectivity. "Adam" was a man of about six feet in height, with a disturbingly vibrant tan and wave of dark blonde hair. He was muscular, as exhibited by the fact that he was still easily holding Simmons' weight in the air, and he was dressed casually in jeans and a beat-up motorcycle jacket. All in all, a decent male specimen, if one was into that sort of thing.

And apparently Simmons was – she had, after all, dated him. Fitz could feel his metaphorical hackles rising as he got to his feet, Adam finally lowering Simmons to hers.

"Sure has been awhile, eh, Jems?" Adam gave a throaty chuckle, flashing a set of perfect teeth that instantly made Fitz hate him (more).

"There's a reason for that," grumbled Simmons, all traces of her earlier good mood gone. She smoothed her ridiculously puffy reindeer sweater and primly tucked back her hair before turning to Fitz. "Leo, this is Adam Ackley, a friend of the family. Adam, this is Leo Fitz, my friend and colleague at Cornell."

Adam looked less than thrilled at the lukewarm introduction, and Fitz knew his face probably echoed his new sworn enemy's expression. After all, "friend and colleague" had a distinctly impersonal connotation.

"You mum said you were coming alone, Jems."

Simmons threw her hands up in frustration, like she did when her chemical equations didn't balance nicely. "_Of course_ she said that. And _of course_ she sent you to pick me up. Honestly, Adam, even _you_ had to see how transparent this whole plan was!"

"Maybe I did, Jems," said Adam in a low, gravelly tone that less intelligent women probably found sexy. Not Simmons, though. She was far more evolved than that. At least, Fitz hoped so. "Maybe I just missed you."

Simmons looked slightly taken aback at that, and Fitz was terrified she might say something sweet and sentimental in typical Simmons-fashion, when suddenly he caught sight of a familiar chartreuse bag trundling down the conveyor belt. Saved by the conveniently-timed luggage!

"Simmons! There's our stuff!" Fitz shoved through the crowd of people before any harm could befall his infant invention, reaching to grab the pale red suitcase with the off-white polka dots he recognized as Simmons'. Before he could grasp the handle, a large, tan hand tugged it off the belt.

"Reckon I'd recognize this trunk anywhere. Are you ever going to buy a new bag, Jems?"

Simmons yanked the bag away, looking flustered. "It's a perfectly suitable bag, thank you very much. Serves its purpose perfectly, so why would I need anything more posh?"

Adam gave his smarmy little grin again (and Fitz wished he was the type of man who could threaten to wipe the smirk off his face) before a look of realization clouded his plastic Ken doll features. "Oh, bloody hell, Jems. I thought you were coming alone – I brought Charlie up here."

"Who's Charlie?" asked Fitz quickly, hoping against hope it was Mr. Perfect-Teeth McStupidFace's androgynously named girlfriend.

Simmons' face was a dark as her mood. "It's his bloody car. He named it like an _idiot_." Fitz decided it was not the time to point out that he and Simmons named almost all of their inventions.

"Well, _one_ of my cars, at least. But point is, it's a two-seater. Sorry, mate, looks like you're hitchhiking."

Fitz threw a panicked glance at Simmons, who sighed and patted his arm. "He's kidding. Adam, that's not funny. Fitz is terrified of hitchhiking." Which was true, and had been ever since he'd _seen A Ride from Death_ as a kid, but jeeze, wasn't anything sacred? She didn't need to tell this baheid everything.

"It's fine," continued Simmons, "and we appreciate that you came to pick us up, but we'll just take a cab. There's no reason for you to take either of us to my house when you live so far away."

Adam gave her a purely surprised look, making his face look even more vacant than usual. "But, Jems, didn't your mum tell you? I'm staying at your place for the holidays."

In perfect unison, Fitz and Simmons groaned, "Oh, bloody _hell_."

**A/N: I am 100% American and therefore do not know any Scottish or English slang. All these words came from Internet searches. If I overused/misused/generally abused your language and you're offended, I apologize, and please let me know so I can correct it!**


	2. Elvis, Elves, and Jingle Bells

**Author's Note: Wow! I just want to tell everyone that I am humbled by the overwhelmingly positive response to this story! The FitzSimmons ship really has the nicest people! If you know anything about my writing, you'll know that I try to post every weekend. You guys are so nice that I'll try to post the next chapter a little earlier, but no promises. Thank you for every review, favorite, and follow. You guys are the best! My recommended listening for this chapter is "Kentucky Rain" by Elvis. Enjoy!**

It took a bit of cajoling, but in the end, Simmons ended up squeezing into the battered, smoke-scented backseat of a taxi with Fitz while Adam drove their luggage back to the house. Simmons had a viable hypothesis as to why he was spending the holidays with her family – he'd said his parents were on a business trip in Germany, but she knew for a fact neither spoke a word of German – and she was dreading the moment when she'd find herself alone with him. She would happily put it off as long as possible.

Besides, she knew Fitz didn't care for Adam, and she could hardly blame him. Adam wasn't a bad man, not really, but his personality fell chiefly on the line between outgoing and obnoxious. Furthermore, she knew Adam came across as a bit of a ponce, having not finished college and all that – she could only imagine Fitz's reaction when he learned what Adam did for a living. Speaking of…

"Fitz, do you follow rugby at all?"

He grimaced. "Not really, no. I mean, my parents always mention it in their emails and such, but honestly, I never got into it. My little brother is on the Edinburgh Crew, though, if that means anything to you."

It didn't, really, but she mentally checked rugby off her list. "Good. Just never mention it to my father, especially whilst in the kitchen."

"Does he not like rugby?" Fitz queried, awkwardly adjusting his long legs. Even without their luggage, the dingy taxi was cramped and uncomfortable.

"He loves rugby – that's the problem. He'll start yelling and gesticulating and foaming at the mouth the seonc you mention it. He made my aunt cry last time she visited – poor thing accidentally tried to change the channel during his game."

Fitz looked a hint apprehensive at that, so she gently touched his sleeve with the tips of her fingers. They were neither of them prone to take comfort in physical touch – memories of bullies from high school were still too fresh after all this time – but she knew he would accept the gesture when she offered it.

"You'll do fine. Er, what do you know about Elvis?"

"Are those the blokes that made the fox song? Or did you mean the American one?"

"Do me favor – don't mention Elvis to my mother. She thinks he's just the 'greatest living creature from across the pond.'"

"But isn't he dead?"

"I think she's still in denial about that, honestly. She was mad about him when she was a girl and she's mad about him now. Your appalling lack of reverence for the King would probably give her an aneurism."

"We certainly don't want that."

"And don't ask to change the music. No matter how many times we have to listen to 'Blue Christmas.'"

Fitz drew a sloppy X across his heart before sticking out his pinky finger. "I swear on my newest copy of _The Principles of Engineering,_ I won't say a word."

Simmons paused, twisting her hands in the material of her sweater. Her gran had made it for her two years ago – the last Christmas they'd spent together before she passed away. It was an ugly thing, to be sure, but it was warm with wool and pleasant memories. "One last thing…please, please _try_ to get along with Adam. Knowing my mother, we won't be able to get rid of him easily."

Fitz brightened just a little at the mention of the word _we_. "Why do you say that?"

"Because my mum is the one who set me up with Adam in the first place."

* * *

If Fitz could only use one word to describe Mrs. Simmons – and he probably wouldn't use more than that, as descriptive imagery had never been his forte – he would probably go with "vibrant." Everything, from the Christmas sweater with red and green flashing lights, to her platinum-blonde hair in a tinsel-wrapped bun, to the way she threw herself out the door to welcome them, screamed that this was a woman who lived passionately and loved deeply.

"There's my little Lizzie!" she cried breathlessly as she wrapped her tiny arms Simmons. Fitz watched the exchange with open bemusement as he paid the driver. _Lizzie_?

Though Mrs. Simmons couldn't have been a centimeter taller than her daughter, she still managed to lift her off the ground and swing her in a circle, much like Adam had done at the airport. Despite the annoyance that surged at the memory, Fitz felt a small, warm glow in his stomach. It was clear that Simmons came from a close-knit and loving home, which explained her sweet and guileless disposition. For the first time since the airport, Fitz actually felt excited about this trip, if only because it would help him further unravel the more mysterious aspects of his friend.

"Jemma Elizabeth Simmons, I cannot even begin to express my disappointment that you sent poor Adam back all by his lonesome with your trunks. Where are your manners?"

Simmons gave her mother a fond smile before wriggling out of the embrace. She hauled Fitz forward by the arm and quickly explained, "Sorry mum, there wasn't enough room. This is Leo Fitz, my friend from University I've been telling you about."

Fitz felt another warm spot at that, knowing it showed in the rush of blood to his cheeks. That was a much more proper introduction than the one she'd given to Adam. And really, it was her mother's opinion that mattered more, right?

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," he offered, sticking out his hand to shake. He was caught completely off-guard when she eschewed his proffered handshake and enveloped him in the same bear hug she'd given Simmons.

"Oh, what a sweet little thing you are! Oh, Jemma, why haven't you brought this darling home before? Oh, just look at this face!" Mrs. Simmons set Fitz down to grab at his cheeks. He felt himself flush again – even his own mother wouldn't have given him such an effusive welcome.

"Mum, don't strangle him! For heaven's sake, I've told you plenty of times why he's not been able to visit. Just like I told you plenty of times he was coming to stay for the holidays."

Mrs. Simmons finally (_thankfully_) released Fitz, looking shocked at the censure in her daughter's tone. "Of course I knew he was visiting, love. There's no need to get your knickers in a twist."

Simmons rolled her eyes scathingly. "You deliberately withheld that information from Adam."

Mrs. Simmons looked highly offended. As poor as he usually was at interpreting emotions, even Fitz could sense some strain underneath the happy front of homecoming.

"Well, you can't fault an old woman for her memory. Right, Leo, dear? It must have just slipped my mind."

"Don't insult my intelligence, mother. I know well and good why you invited Adam, and I know why you didn't tell him about Fitz. Please, listen when I tell you: Adam and I are truly finished. It's not going to work."

Mrs. Simmons' smile seemed much more forced now. Fitz shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, wishing he'd grabbed the Night-Night gun out of his bag before Adam left. At least he'd have something to do with his hands.

"I'm sure I've not the foggiest notion what you're talking about. Come, then, Lizzie, let's get you and your friend settled. Though I don't know where he'll sleep, what with Adam in the guest room. I suppose there's always the couch."

Simmons sighed and shot an apologetic look at Fitz. _Let me fix this_, her expression seemed to say.

"Mum, either Adam can sleep on the couch or Fitz can have my room. I can't believe for a minute you'd be willing to act so inhospitably towards my _best friend_ that you've _just met_."

Mrs. Simmons locked eyes with her daughter. They seemed to be having some silent battle of wills, and Fitz was undeniably frightened by the tension. He'd long since accepted that Simmons was a force to be reckoned with, determined without being stubborn, and she always emerged victorious from their little tiffs in the lab. However, he was starting to see which particular side of the gene pool she'd inherited the trait from.

Mrs. Simmons finally looked away. "I suppose Adam won't mind moving to the couch. _He's_ not one to complain about little setbacks, after all."

Fitz frowned, certain that was meant as a jab at him, but then Mrs. Simmons smiled her brilliant smile again and looped her arm through his. "Now that that's all settled, let's head inside, shall we? It's monkeys out, and I've got supper in the oven." Mrs. Simmons proceeded to drag him towards the house that crested the top of the hill – the taxi had refused to drive up the narrow, winding incline – while Simmons lagged behind, visibly drained by the whole thing.

"So, Leo, how do you feel about Elvis?"

* * *

Simmons unpacked the last of her clothes, tucking the final shirt neatly into the drawer. Her mother had pulled Fitz into the kitchen and browbeaten him into accepting a mug of hot chocolate. Elvis soulfully crooned about the rain in Kentucky over the ancient cassette player, while her mother fixed supper and waxed poetic about her love for the singer. Fitz had seemed safe enough, for the moment, so she'd slipped away to greet her father and arrange her things. She'd been disappointed by the lack of snow upon arriving, but the inside of the house was stuffed to the gills with decorations, just as she remembered. The life-size models of Santa and his elves were crowded about the fireplace, pinecones were crammed into every nook of every room, and the Christmas tree stood proud and tall in the corner of the den. The only room that had survived the Yuletide explosion was Simmons' childhood bedroom.

The room hadn't changed much since she'd left for New York nearly seven years ago. The walls were a pale yellow, the blanket atop the bed a faded but warm orange. It was an undeniably juvenile room; the only signs that someone of intellect once resided here were the stacks of _Laboratory News_ peeking out from under the bed and the poster of Carl Neuberg hanging on the opposite wall. The room had been designed by her mother, and these small touches were the only representation of Simmons' true personality.

"Hasn't changed a bit, eh, Jems?"

Simmons spun around quickly, cursing herself for not hearing Adam's approach. He was blocking the door, too. No escape route, unless she used that teeny tiny vial of gamma hydroxybutyrate that was probably still in the top dresser drawer…but that would be unethical. She sighed, resigning herself to the conversation she knew was coming.

"You've changed, though." Adam moved into the room, and Simmons was relieved he didn't try to shut the door behind him. "You've grown up, Jems."

Simmons tried not to flinch when he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled with his usual disarming charm.

"I should certainly hope so. It's been almost a decade since the last time I saw you."

Adam's smile turned sad. "I know. I miss you. I know you write when you can, only…"

Simmons blinked in surprise. "I've not been writing to _you_!" She blushed, instantly reprimanded by the accusation in her tone.

Adam nodded thoughtfully. "No, you've not been. But your parents know how I feel about you, and they've tossed me a bone a time or two. Don't be mad, though. You know how your mum loves a good romance."

"We're not a romance of any qualitative level, Adam."

"You can't really mean that, Jems. We dated for four years! You were the first girl I ever dated, the first girl I ever kissed…the first girl I ever loved."

His eyes were sad and mournful, and Simmons couldn't help the slight softening in her heart. Adam had always been a good friend to her, even if his feelings were poles apart from hers. "Adam…"

"And I still love you, Jems. Time and distance, they haven't changed my heart one whit. When I heard you were coming home with another man – "

"You said mum didn't mention Fitz!"

"– I knew I had to act. I can't lose you, Jems." Adam suddenly dropped to one knee.

Simmons wasn't sure what she had expected from this chin wag with Adam, but it certainly wasn't this. "Are you absolutely _daft_? Adam, I don't know what you think you're doing – "

"Jemma Simmons, I'm doing what I should have done years ago. I should never have let you leave Newcastle, and I don't want you to be the one that got away. My precious, glimmering Jem – will you marry me?"

The silence that echoed through the house after her shrieked refusal sounded very loud indeed.

**Again, I apologize for any misused slang or incorrect cultural representations. See you in the reviews!**


	3. Jetlag

**Author's Note: Well, it's late at night, but it's still Saturday! So I didn't miss my update! I just want to say - again - how awesome my response to this story has been. It's gotten more comments and followers than anything I've ever written before, and I am so grateful for all the support. I'm envisioning another 2 chapters for this story, but it's not set in stone yet. My recommended listening for this chapter is "Heroes and Thieves" by Vanessa Carlton. Enjoy!**

Fitz hated tension.

Well, that wasn't true, exactly. Tension, when being used scientifically, was easily understood. _The elongation of a body, usually a rope or chain, caused by two opposing forces acting on the ends of the body_. It could be quantified, qualified, and more importantly, solved.

Tension between two opposing women, on the other hand…

Fitz wasn't quite sure what had happened. One minute, he was drinking the best damn cup of cocoa he'd ever been served and talking about how he'd met Simmons. The next, Simmons was yelling, "_No_! Are you _mental_?" and Eleanor (as Mrs. Simmons insisted he call her) was bustling out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon drawn like a rapier. When she returned, her face was bright red, and she turned to chopping potatoes with what Fitz figured was an improperly large knife.

"You know what I love about Elvis, Leo?" she asked, cleaving a potato in half like a well-trained executioner. "He was so _grateful_ for everything he had. He knew he was lucky, having such a posh life, and when his mother tried her hardest to secure his future happiness, he most certainly did _not_ threaten her with a bottle of illegal anesthesia if she didn't 'bugger off!'" She ended her speech with another violent hack, before she dumped the diced vegetables into a pot of boiling water. Fitz knew next to nothing about Elvis – there was _something_ about a pink car – and was trying to formulate an appropriate response when Simmons all but flounced into the room.

"Come on, then, Fitz, let's get you settled."

Eleanor spun around. "Leo and I were having a very pleasant conversation about appreciating the kindness of others, and – "

"_Leo_," and his name was hiss of frustration and sarcasm, "needs to unpack his things. The poor boy's been traveling all day; you can give him a bit of a break before you lecture his ear off."

Eleanor looked highly affronted, and Fitz was trying to defuse the situation the same way he'd practiced defusing bombs (_always snip the red wire first, Fitz_), but Simmons snagged his arm and dragged him bodily from the room before he could reply. He spared one last, pained glance at his cocoa before following Simmons to the guest room.

"I can't _believe_ her! She's done mad things in the past, of course, but this! This is too far! You're lucky, Fitz, that your parents are too busy living their _own_ lives to try to live _yours_." Simmons harrumphed and flopped onto the bed, her small body bouncing slightly. The guest room was plain, off-white walls accented by blues and browns and pale golds. The only splash of color came from the quilt at the foot of the bed, a vibrant patchwork of orange and red that reminded Fitz a bit of a sunset.

"I like your mother," Fitz offered as he gently extracted the Night-Night prototype from his bag. Perfect, not even a scratch from the air travel. "I mean, she seems to care about you a lot."

Simmons sighed, looking at him with troubled doe eyes. "No, she really cares about Lizzie, this – this imaginary ideal daughter that she apparently thinks I'll grow into being."

"Why _does_ she call you Lizzie, since you've brought it up?"

Simmons blushed slightly. "I had this awful speech impediment when I was a child. I couldn't pronounce Jemma correctly, and all the kids in my class made fun of me, so I started going by my middle name instead. My mum, she's the one who picked Elizabeth as my second name, so she was just thrilled by the switch. She started calling me Lizzie, and even after speech therapy, the name stuck with her."

Fitz nodded, not offering any condolences for the bullying (people like them knew that there was no healing old wounds now) or commenting on her mother's choice of nomenclature. That was what he liked about Simmons so much – they only really spoke when they felt they needed to say something. They conserved their words, as thoughtful people ought to, formulating thoughts and converting them carefully into sentences long before they opened their mouths. There was no need for excess chatter, and Fitz finished unloading his trunk in silence, puzzling over the Simmonses' relationships with one another. He couldn't draw a viable conclusion without meeting her father, though, and soon his thoughts turned to the Night-Night's experimental formula.

Simmons stayed quiet, picking at the loose seams of the blanket.

Dinner was, if possible, even worse. Mr. Simmons was a remarkably affable old man, with a slight bald spot at the crown of his head. He asked quiet questions and the smiles he aimed at his daughter were positively glowing.

Adam, however, was glowering more than glowing, hunched moodily over his plate as though the roast potatoes had done him a great wrong. Mrs. Simmons was hardly less aggravated, though her irritation showed in the pointed comments and icy glares that she gave her daughter. Simmons was slightly more composed, talking almost exclusively to Fitz and her father.

Fitz was relieved when the dishes were finally cleared away – the muscles in his leg were starting twitch with all the obvious anger in the room. He wasn't sure what had happened, but as Simmons didn't seem inclined to share, he didn't think he'd find out anytime soon.

Once the dishes were done (Fitz helped Eleanor with the cleaning, much to her very vocal approval, though it was the least he could do), Mr. Simmons dug out a chess board and challenged Fitz to a match. Simmons watched their game interestedly while Adam and Eleanor chatted idly by the fire. The game lasted almost 20 minutes, because Fitz was desperately trying to go easy on the man without blatantly letting him win.

Adam kept shooting covetous glances at Simmons throughout the evening, and Fitz wondered if her row with her mother had anything to do with the presence of her ex boyfriend. He still had a hard time believing Simmons had ever been attracted to such a Neanderthal.

"So, Leo," called Adam in a booming voice that suggested the cup in his hand held more than just water, "Jems tells me you're a mechanic?"

Fitz bristled instantly. "I'm a bloody engineer, thank you for asking. It's a wee bit different than being a mechanic."

The sarcasm appeared lost on Adam. "So what do you do, then? Build cars? Or do you not have a job?" He guffawed loudly at his questions, as though he were being very clever.

"I'll have you know I've actually been giving a very lucrative job offer by – "

Simmons coughed loudly, interrupting his retort, shaking her head just enough for Fitz to recognize the warning.

" – by a top-notch security company. Very, uh, high-end work." Fitz wasn't sure why Simmons didn't want him to mention SHIELD, but he'd follow her lead. As far as he knew, they were allowed to tell their family about their jobs as long as they never mentioned specifics, but perhaps he was mistaken.

(It was bound to happen someday.)

Adam grinned stupidly and strolled over to the armchair Mr. Simmons was occupying. One arm swung down, as though to wrap around Simmons' shoulders, but she twitched out of the way before the offending limb could touch her. "Me, I was never into all that science rubbish. I had a higher calling, you see." He paused dramatically before adding, "Theater."

Fitz couldn't help himself. He tried, truly he did, but the serious and superior look on Adam's face sent him over the edge, and he burst out laughing. "Theater, huh? I'll bet that's quite the challenge – particularly all the reading, right?"

Simmons placed a gentle hand on his arm and shook her head quickly. "Art in all its many forms is an integral part of any culture – "

"Yeah," interrupted Adam loudly, "I'm in- in- interval. Gral. Innergral." He swayed slightly.

"Well!" said Eleanor, hopping lightly to her feet. "I think that's enough for tonight. Perhaps we should turn in, it's getting quite late." It was seven o'clock.

Simmons threw her mother a grateful look. "Yes, it's been such a long day, I'm sure we could all use a rest. Besides, Fitz has some work from the University to finish over break, I'm sure he'd like the time to work." Simmons shot him a look, but he was already halfway to his feet.

"Absolutely! Thanks again for dinner, Eleanor, it was delicious." He nodded at Mr. Simmons before following Simmons out of the room.

Simmons murmured goodnight to him outside of her room, but he reached out and softly touched her elbow before she could go inside.

"Jemma," he said, his voice low and serious even to his own ears. He so rarely called her by her first name that she immediately became attentive. "You're okay, right? At dinner, you seemed a bit…"

He let his voice trail off, and she smiled tiredly at him. "I'm all right, Fitz. Really. I'd just forgotten what being around my mother felt like, that's all." She patted his arm before gently extricating herself and slipping into her room.

* * *

It was almost midnight when the knocking came. Fitz's eyes felt cracked and dry, but he was so close to a breakthrough with the Night-Night gun; he couldn't afford to stop now, or he'd lose his momentum.

"Come in," he called hoarsely towards the closed door and was surprised when it opened to reveal Simmons standing in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a Cornell hoodie.

"Er, hello." Her face was bright red.

"Hello." Fitz set down his screwdriver and frowned at her. "What's going on?"

Simmons moved into the room, shutting the door behind her. "I wanted to hear your thoughts on the existence of gravitonium."

Fitz blinked at her.

"Because I've been thinking, and I really don't think it's probable that we've never encountered even a trace source of it, and I know you really hold by Dr. Hall's theories on it, and I just thought we could have a nice, mature discussion regarding it." All this came out in a rush.

"Jemma." Fitz sat on the bed and waited until she sighed and joined him. "What's this really about?"

"Would you believe it if I said jetlag?"

Fitz waited.

"Okay, fine. It's not jetlag. It's – well, I'm sure you noticed I've not yet told my parents about SHIELD?"

Fitz nodded slowly. "I was wondering about that. Are we not supposed to tell?"

Simmons shook her head and shivered slightly. Fitz grabbed the quilt off the foot of the bed and wrapped it over her shoulders.

"Thanks. No, it's not that we can't tell anyone. It's just- I was waiting for the right time. And I really thought this trip was going to be that time. I had it all planned out – I'd introduce you to them and then casually mention over dinner how we'd be coworkers soon too, at one of the most important intelligence agencies in the country. And my dad was going to clap me on the shoulder and my mum was going to say 'I'm so proud of you, Jemma,' but…"

"Didn't exactly go as planned?" Fitz knew how much Simmons valued a well-executed plan.

"My mum, she didn't want me to be a scientist. When I was a little girl, she bought me dolls and dresses when I asked for chemistry sets and encyclopedias. She had this perfect plan laid out for me, but unfortunately, I never fit that bill. When I said I wanted to get my PhD, she wanted me to become," and here she grimaced and stuck her tongue out slightly, "a pediatrician. Said it was the only appropriate profession in my field, working with children. She's never liked science, and she's never liked that I was so _different_."

Fitz nodded in silent acceptance. His own parents had been the same way, and he was almost a little hurt that Simmons hadn't mentioned this before, when he'd poured out his whole sordid past to her.

"When I got that scholarship to Cornell, when she actually let me go…well, I knew my dad had a lot to do with that, but I just thought that maybe, deep down she'd started to accept me for who I am. But I was just fooling myself. Seeing Adam here, knowing that she's still trying to 'fix' my life…I'm never going to be good enough for her."

Simmons wiped at her eyes suddenly, and Fitz was more than a little terrified to see she was crying. He was used to dealing with a resilient, cheerful Simmons. He had never seen her cry before, not even when one of their favorite professors had yelled at her to shut up when she'd pointed out a mistake in his lesson.

Fitz wasn't good with words; he never had been. Numbers and figures, yes, and explaining theorems and concepts in a concise and clear way, that he could handle. He was a problem-solver by trade, but he didn't have words to fix this.

"You can stay, if you want," he said instead. "We can watch a movie or something on my laptop. I wasn't that tired anyway."

Simmons beamed at him, and later, when she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder, her lips were still curved with the ghost of a contented smile.

**A/N: No offense intended, art people. I just feel that Fitz would be a bit of a science snob.**


	4. How Fitz Saved Christmas

**Author's Note: I didn't forget, I promise! I just didn't have time to post yesterday. The next chapter will just be an epilogue-type thing, to tie up some loose ends. Thanks to everyone for sticking with this story and leaving reviews and favoriting and following - you guys are the best! And special thanks to HangInAround - I was on the fence about adding this part until I read your comment :) Enjoy!**

Fitz didn't remember falling asleep, and he didn't remember Simmons leaving, but he knew both must have occurred because he found himself alone in his room the next morning, well-rested and full of plans for the Night-Night gun.

Those plans were derailed quickly, though, for when he stumbled blearily into the kitchen for his cup of tea as per morning ritual, he found the house silent and empty.

"Hello?" he called out as he attempted to find Simmons' stash of Earl Grey while still cradling the Night-Night gun in his left hand. "Anyone home?"

"They're all outside – it snowed last night. And Jems _loves_ the snow."

Fitz turned, dropping the small box of teabags into the sink as his still-sleepy mind processed Adam's words.

"Why aren't you with them?" he asked, furiously thinking of a way to make the dropped tea look intentional. He hated to seem like such a fool in front of Adam – in front of an _actor_, for goodness' sake.

"See, I thought it was about time I had a bit of a chat with you." Adam slowly rounded the counter, not stopping until he was uncomfortably close to Fitz's personal bubble. Fitz fought the primitive urge for _fight or flight_, reminding himself that this bloke was, in some way, a friend of Simmons. And if there was one thing he knew about Simmons, she was an impeccable judge of character. After all, she'd been the first to recognize his unappreciated genius in teaching monkeys to hack computers (even if that particular endeavor hadn't gone as he'd imagined).

"I saw Simmons come out of your room pretty early this morning. I don't care what you were doing," Adam added as Fitz opened his mouth to explain. "I just want you to know this. Jems and me have been engaged practically since we were born."

"Jems and I," Fitz corrected automatically.

"No, you were never part of the picture." Adam frowned, looking confused, but apparently he recovered his few wits, as he continued rather quickly. "Anyway, she's having her little rebellion now, running off to America and sowing her wild oats and whatnot, but when she comes to her senses and decides to settle down, I'll still be here waiting. Surely a scientist like you must admit how perfect we'd be, genetically? With my personality and looks, I need someone like Jems to keep from diluting my gene pool too much."

Fitz was enraged. Sure, Simmons was gorgeous, he'd have to be daft not to notice, but for this…_heathen_ to completely overlook her _best_ features – her optimism, her determination, her sharp mind – it made him want to punch Adam in his smarmy face. Or at least deliver a strongly worded retort.

"Now, listen – "

"No, you listen. Whatever you and Jems might think you have now, I'm always going to be her mum's favorite. Jems is a people-pleaser, always has been, and in the end, she'll make the right call. Are we clear?"

Adam stepped forward then, and Fitz tensed instinctively.

It wasn't his fault, not really; simple muscle memory was to blame for how his body clenched when approached by a hostile creature twice his size. More importantly, muscle memory was what caused his hand to twitch and tighten, and really, it was muscle memory that pulled the Night-Night gun's trigger while it was facing Adam (because that's just proper weapons protocol, one should never point a weapon towards oneself, especially when loaded).

So, in reality, thought Fitz with a kind of detached horror as Adam swayed and hit the floor, it wasn't his fault at all.

* * *

The car ride home was more than a little awkward. Mr. Simmons had declined going to the hospital, as he said he had some work to catch up on. Simmons drove Adam back to his house in Charlie, leaving Fitz to a stonily silent drive with Eleanor.

"I'm sorry," Fitz offered again, realizing that he'd spent more time apologizing to Mrs. Simmons than to Adam. But then, he supposed he just liked Eleanor more.

Mrs. Simmons sighed. "It's not your fault, dear. Well, actually, it is, and why you brought a weapon on holiday, I'll never know. But it's not you I'm so disappointed with."

That was a surprise. "Are you – d'you mean – I don't – Simmons?"

Mrs. Simmons glanced at him and shook her head sadly. "I don't know where I went wrong with her, honestly. I always tried to do right by her, make sure she had everything, and all it's done is make her resent me."

Fitz shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This wasn't at all how he thought this conversation would go. "I don't think she resents you. She's just…confused…why you don't approve of her choices."

"Are you familiar with Aesop's fables, Leo?"

Fitz wasn't, but he was afraid to admit it, in case it brought on a reaction of Elvis proportions. "Of course."

"The one about the dog, dropping his bone to bark at his reflection…all I wanted was to make sure Jemma didn't chase after impossible dreams. I just wanted to make sure she had a bone at the end of the day."

The story actually did ring a bell, and Fitz, as much as he detested figurative language (the world would be so much more _efficient_ if people just said what they met, dammit), he thought he understood her point.

"Well, Jem – uh, Simmons, is a big dog – I mean girl. And she wouldn't really be happy with any…bone…unless she earned it herself. The only thing she's ever wanted from you – the only thing any child ever wants – is for you to be proud of her. And with all due respect, ma'am, if you can't appreciate Jemma for how she is – brilliant and strong and independent – then maybe you should let her go. Because I can damn well be proud enough for the two of us."

There was such a horribly long pause that Fitz was absolutely certain he'd end up hitchhiking the rest of the way to Simmons' house – no, the rest of the way to Scotland. But then Eleanor spoke again, her eyes glued to the road and her voice a little watery as she said, "I'm glad she met you, Leo."

When they returned to the house, Fitz went straight to Simmons' room and waited for her to return from Adam's.

"I've just had a call from my parents," he told her point-blank as she entered the room. "They've had some technical difficulties on their cruise and are coming home early. If it's not too much trouble, can you drop me back at Embra tomorrow?"

Simmons protested instantly, but Fitz held up a hand. "You don't need me as a buffer anymore, and besides, I think it's time you talked to your parents about SHIELD. That's a conversation best held without an audience."

Simmons nodded reluctantly, before a sly smile stole across her face. "On one condition."

"What's that?" asked Fitz warily; the last time he'd heard those words, he'd ended up scraping pig guts off the lab floor for a week.

"You can't leave until you help me build the perfect snowman. I didn't get a chance to earlier, what with being in the hospital and all."

Fitz grinned, grabbing his gloves out of his coat pocket. "It's simple, really, you just need to multiply the circumference of each sphere by a factor of one-third to ensure even distribution – "

He continued to babble as they skipped out the living room, as eager as children to play in the snow; there was, after all, something magical about the first snowfall of the season.

And as Fitz added the (perfectly symmetrical) head to the (mathematically proportional) body, he saw Eleanor peeking out the kitchen window at them.

She was smiling.


	5. Epilogue

**Author's Note: And thus we reach our conclusion! Thanks a million to everyone who supported this story - it means a lot to me! The chances of another FitzSimmons story in the future are good indeed. Enjoy!**

Simmons was waiting for him when he returned to lab in January.

Well, not _waiting_ for him, exactly, but she did look up and beam at him when he entered.

"Fitz!" she gushed, pulling up a few windows on her computer. "You've just got to see, while we were gone, Dr. Hall published an article on the uses of gravitonium in medicine – it's absolutely brilliant! He's giving a lecture tomorrow, I've already reserved seats for us – "

"Lemme take ma coat aff, Simmons, shite," he grumbled, internally wincing at the heaviness of his accent clinging to his tongue. He knew it'd take a week or so away from his parents to return to its usual Americanized tone.

Simmons smiled – he knew she found his brogue endlessly amusing, as she'd told him after a rousing rendition of "500 Miles" once – and ignored his foul mood. She knew him well enough to realize it was more theatrical than anything.

"So I take it you had a good holiday?" she asked, grabbing his lab coat from his station and tossing it to him. He caught it without looking, falling easily into their usual rhythm.

"Not bad, I s'pose. Granda got into a wee bit of tiff with ma dad, and the neighbors ended up calling the police, not to mention it was dead baltic the whole effin' time." He noticed his lab goggles had been cleaned and set on his desk, which was covered with its usual disarray of papers. There was, however, something out of place…

"What's this?" Fitz asked, holding up the basket. It was a good two feet tall, wrapped in crinkling cellophane and topped with a monstrous green bow.

Simmons blushed, suddenly intensely interested in peering through a microscope Fitz didn't even think was turned on. "Um, just a Christmas gift from my mum. The little one is from me."

Little one? For a second, Fitz thought she was referring to the newly cleaned state of his goggles. Then he noticed a small, flat white box sitting next to the gargantuan basket.

"Thanks, Simmons," he murmured absently as he opened the box. Inside, nestled on bed of white tissue paper, lay a flat gold ornament. A gleaming monkey grinned up at him, giving him a cheeky wink as he poured two test tubes together. He was sporting a lab coat with the Cornell crest on the breast pocket, just like the one Fitz was currently wearing.

"I had it made especially for you," Simmons said, still not looking at him, her voice high-pitched and nervous. "Since your monkey ran away – after terrorizing all those freshmen, mind you – I thought you'd like another. The school board strictly forbade another actual primate, though, so…I went with the next best thing."

"He's perfect," assured Fitz, holding his ornament up to catch the beam of the bright fluorescents. It was the most personal gift she'd ever given him – they usually stuck to the basics of new lab supplies or textbooks, something solid and practical. This little thing was seasonal and completely useless, but he already cherished it. "Thanks, Jemma."

Simmons shrugged, looking uncomfortable (and Fitz could feel how red the tips of his ears were turning), so he changed the subject hastily.

"So how'd your Christmas turn out? Did you tell your parents about – you-know-what?"

Simmons finally looked away from her microscope (and Fitz could see now there was no slide inserted) and gave him an appraising look. "It was actually…very nice. After you left, my mum pulled me aside and apologized. She thought she might've scared you off. But I told her your parents just got home early."

Her eyes were warm and knowing, and Fitz realized his lie didn't fool her – probably hadn't for a minute.

"Anyway," she continued quickly, apparently accepting his motives for leaving early, though he knows he'll hear about the dishonesty later – _friends don't lie to each other, Fitz_ – "She also asked me how my studies were going. She said she'd looked into some of the articles I'd written for those journals that I told her about ages ago. I don't think she understood them, mind you, but…she said she was impressed."

Simmons walked over to him, and her doe eyes were glowing and her cheeks were tinted pink with excitement and her lips were curving with a smile as her words came faster, tripping over each other in her excitement. "I told her and Dad about the job at dinner and she – she stood up right then and hugged me. She said…she said she was proud of me."

Fitz felt a little choked up with that. He hadn't thought his words would have such an effect on Mrs. Simmons – what with all the metaphors and fables being thrown around, he wasn't even sure he'd understood half the conversation himself.

"I don't know what you said, but thank you, Leo." Simmons patted his arm and smiled with such affection that Fitz's cheeks flamed three hues redder. He briefly entertained thoughts of reaching out and hugging her, but they were two people that didn't touch, that didn't rely on physical comfort and really preferred to do without it.

"I didn't – " he tried to explain, but she arched an eyebrow at him – _I know you're not trying to lie again, Fitz_ – so he shut his mouth.

"So what's in the basket?" he asked instead.

Simmons rolled her eyes. "It's a care package, supposedly. And just so you know, my mum wants me to reassure you that you're welcome at our house anytime. Even if I'm not there. Especially if I'm not there, so she can have you all to herself. Her words, not mine."

Fitz suppressed a smile as he tugged the bow off his gift.

"She also wanted to know if we'd be wearing rings next time we visited."

The basket hit the ground with a thud, tins of biscuits and a plastic-wrapped fruit cake and a pie or two spilling spectacularly across the lab floor. "But we're not – she doesn't really think – I mean, what?" Fitz's cheeks had, impossibly, achieved a new shade of red heretofore unknown to the human race.

"Once a matchmaker, always a matchmaker, I suppose. And now that Adam's out of the picture, she latched on to the next warm-blooded male, it seems." Simmons' words are delivered smoothly enough, but Fitz noticed a slight change in color in her visage as well. The sight makes him warm with an inexpressible, unexplainable happiness.

Simmons returned to her work, though he noticed her glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes more frequently than usual. He picked up his hoard of food (though there are a few Elvis CDs interspersed with the baked goods) off the floor. A note had fluttered under the desk, and Fitz perused it curiously.

_Dear Leo, _

_I'm sorry you couldn't join us for the rest of the holidays – it was the best Christmas this family has had in awhile, and that's in large part to you. I whipped up a few things for you – some treats you never got a chance to try. If you need anything else, you be sure to let me know straight away! I hope I see you soon, whenever you're in the area. Take care of yourself, and be sure to watch over my little __Lizzie__ Jemma. She needs a friend like you._

_Hugs and kisses, Eleanor. _

"Speaking of Adam," came Simmons' voice from across the room, "at least you finally got a chance to test your tranquilizer gun."

"_Night-Night gun_, Simmons. And it looks like it's back to the drawing board on that one – the doctors said his heart didn't slow by the percentage I was going for and in any case, he was only unconscious for about five minutes."

Simmons sighed, exasperation evident in her voice. "There's no way any self-respecting government agency will accept a tool with a name like that."

Fitz bit his lip. "You're right, as usual. I think I will change the name, after all…how does Neuromuscular Impeding General Hexafluronium Tranquilizer gun sound to you?"

"Much better," replied Simmons with an approving nod. Fitz waited.

"Hold on…Fitz! You can't just make it an acronym and think that solves anything – "

"Happy holidays to you too, Simmons," grinned Fitz as he pulled the N.I.G.H.T N.I.G.H.T. gun out of his bag. It was good to be home.


End file.
